I'm not usually the type to have sex in an Aviary. But, my new girl is an Davinci with a love for birds, and it;s one of the few places we can actually be alone. Well, aside from the birds. She's pressed against a table, and I'm kissing her. Thing is our lookout, as per usual. The windows let the warm, winter sunshine is. She looks good, but her fingers are already getting cold and we're going to have to make this quickly. Her pants are unbuttoned, and she's tugging my uniform jacket off.

With a frustrated noise, she grabs the collar of my uniform shirt and pulls me into a passionate kiss. Her fingers are cold as they unbutton my shirt, and when she's finished I catch them. I cup both between my own hands and bring them to my lips, kissing both of her hands and breathing warm air onto them. She makes a soft sound I decide to like, and then tugs me close again.

But she's shivering. I know she'd suck it up if I asked, but that feels cruel. God. What have I become? I'm becoming soft. I fix her pants and mostly button up my own shirt. I take her to the empty music room, where there's a fireplace. But there's also many beautiful glass and wrought iron skylights. My girl likes the snow and the sky, so I think she'd like it. She gets a fire going in the large gate, and I search for something to lay us down on. After not much searching I find a soft-looking carpet.

She helps me roll it out, and then we get back to what we're doing. She lets out little gasps as I stroke her flank and her thighs. She kisses my neck, and I murmur things in Spanish, because I know she can't speak it. She can speak French, and calls orgasms Le Petit Mort, which translates to the little death in English. I like it. She speaks French as I sink to my knees, and I speak Spanish as I kiss her thighs. Most of what I know I learned from my parents, and most of the Spanish they speak is pet names and honeyed words.

So, using that as my exemplar for what romance should be, I kiss every inch of exposed skin I can find. I call her things like Mi Cielito, Cariño, Mi alma. I tell her, even though she doesn't understand, that I think she's beautiful, and that yes, I do like it when she calls me Nes- regardless of what say. "Sabes, realmente eres algo para atesorar. Eres mi media naranja." I say, reverence dripping from my every syllable as my lips finally find the apex between her thighs.

She lets out a soft, airy moan and her eyes roll back in her head. I take a momentary pause where I fix my hair into a ponytail and then dip back to where I really want to be. My hair is shorter than it was, she helped me cut it when we first got back to school. It's shorter, shaggier. I like it. She lets out another airy sigh, and I genuinely think I've won the lottery.